


Carpe diem

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: HPFT, Dragon Pox, Gen, Wizarding History, nicolas flamel - Freeform, st mungo's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In sixteenth century London, two overworked Healers have a day to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe diem

**1588, London.**

 

It was a busy day in the Healing Suite. Mungo Bonham rushed from bed to bed, trying to give pain relief to the injured, healing salves to the sick and ease the passage of the dying. It was a heartbreaking process but someone had to do it, and the casualty rate from the defeat of the Spanish Armada off the south coast was significantly larger than expected, possibly because the Spanish had unexpectedly used magic against their mostly Muggle opponents. Mungo had never seen so many Muggles with magical maladies and had even sourced a young man from nearby to Obliviate them all when their treatment was complete.

“Come, now, Blane,” he chastised his assistant, who was running a long way behind schedule. “There are seventy-four Muggles who need their memories modified. You told me you were up to the job – why has it not been done yet?”

The boy coloured. “I had an idea I wanted to try out, to see if it would work,” he said. “Unfortunately it didn’t.”

Mungo looked sternly at him. “Is this the reason this poor woman has sprouted wings?” 

“I’m sorry,” Blane said. “I’ll reverse it now. And then, of course, I’ll get right to the Obliviating.”

“You CAN Obliviate, right?” Mungo asked suspiciously. The spell had only been created in the past twelve months and very few people had mastered it.

Blane looked offended. “Of course I can. Mnemone Radford taught me herself. Like I said, I’ll have it done in no time.”

“Good,” Mungo said tersely. “Because there’s enough going on without you experimenting on the patients.” He looked up as one of his Healers, Gunhilda, hurried past with obvious agitation.

“Sorry,” she said as she brushed his arm on her way through. “We’ve just had another emergency, that’s all.”

Mungo’s face dropped. “Another one? How many is that this week?”

Gunhilda shrugged, stopping to face him. She only had one eye and it had taken him a while to get used to looking at her, but now her abnormality barely registered – she was a good Healer and that was what he needed. “Black Death’s making a reappearance,” she said. “The amulets we used against it last time aren’t working so we need to try something else.”

Mungo’s face furrowed. “Isn’t that what you’ve been working on?” Gunhilda had been staying late, trying to perfect a cure for something … he just couldn’t remember what.

She shook her head. “That’s Dragon Pox, and I’m nearly there. Black Death is something else entirely.”

“Of course,” Mungo said. “Go on then. I’ll fix this lot up as best I can and come over to give you a hand in a few minutes.”

She smiled in gratitude, her one eye crinkling at the corner. It almost made her look normal. “Thanks,” she said, quickly turning and hurrying out the door again.

Mungo sighed. He’d already been at the Healing Suite for fourteen hours and it looked like he’d be there for another five or six, if the traffic through the door was anything to go by. The problem was that he was a victim of his own success – word had got around that he was good at his trade, one of the best Healers London had to offer, and as a result people travelled vast distances to receive his care. The irony was that he barely had the time to care for anyone these days, he was so overworked and stressed from trying to manage other Healers. Things had to change.

****

“It’s not working,” Gunhilda seethed, throwing her goblet against the wall. Mungo just shrugged and cast _Reparo_ on it, though the contents were ruined. 

“What is it this time?”

“Dragon Pox cure,” Gunhilda said. “I’m nearly there, I just know it, but I can’t get the ingredients to coagulate properly. It’s like I’m missing something, but I can’t work out what it is.”

They were relaxing in a private room at Mungo’s Healing Suite. The Suite itself comprised two rooms with six patients each, a tiny room to store supplies (Mungo referred to it as his apothecary, though it stocked much more than just potions and ingredients) and a small lean-to that fit a table, two chairs and a small bed in the corner for Mungo to sleep on. In reality it was his home, as he never spent any time anywhere but the Suite, but he still maintained that his home address was with his parents in Shropshire. Living at the Suite was not something a respectable Healer did.

Mungo looked up from the book he was reading. “What are you trying to get it to do?”

“The aconite keeps reacting to the Doxy eggs." She sat hunched over her work, and he could see that too many more nights like this would result in her bending her back out of shape.

“Sit up straight,” he said. “Do you want to end up a hunchback?”

She automatically sat up straighter, but she still looked despondent. “Any ideas about the Doxy eggs?” she asked, changing the subject.

He shook his head. “To be honest, Gunhilda, even if I did know something that might help, chances are my mind is so full of those people out there,” and he gestured towards the healing rooms, “that I wouldn’t be able to think of it anyway.”

She sighed. “I’ll just try those pamphlets again then.”

Mungo had a stack of pamphlets detailing some of the more recent research and medical breakthroughs. Even though they might have helped him in his work, he was always so tired by the end of the day that he just hadn’t managed to read them all yet. Gunhilda, however, had devoured them, always seeking more knowledge. It was probably why she was so close to the cure she was looking for.

Just then the door to the Suite opened, and Mungo stood up automatically. This only meant one thing – more patients, and he didn’t have room for the ones he had. Nonetheless he went out to greet the newcomer.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

The stranger nodded. “You’re Mungo Bonham?” he asked. Mungo indicated that he was, and waited for his guest to continue. “Sorry to come in on you so late,” the man said, “but I wanted to get you alone.” He looked around, taking in the sleeping bodies around him. “You are alone? Aside from these folk?”

Mungo hesitated. “I have an assistant here with me. She’s researching a cure for Dragon Pox. But anything you say can be heard by her – I have no secrets from her.”

The man hesitated. “Out here might be better. I don’t want you to have to answer to anyone for your business decisions.”

Mungo raised an eyebrow. “Business decisions?”

“I represent Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel,” the man said. “You may be familiar with the names.”

Mungo started, staring at this man whose face he could barely see in the half light. “Flamel?”

“Yes. You know them then?”

“Of course I do. They discovered the Elixir of Life! Everyone knows their story.”

“Quite,” the stranger said. “The Flamels have sent me to you with a business proposition.”

“A business proposition?” Mungo couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Come, take a seat,” he went on belatedly. “I can’t have you standing in the cold, Mr ….” He realised that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“My name is not important,” the main said, taking the chair Mungo offered from a sleeping woman’s bedside. “Yes, Monsieur and Madame Flamel have heard of your work and taken an interest in it. They would like to fund your research and, potentially, establish a larger infirmary than you currently manage.”

Mungo couldn’t quite take it in. “Nicolas Flamel … wants to fund … ME??” It seemed too bizarre to contemplate.

“If you take them up on this offer, it will be under certain conditions,” the man said. “They have preferences in research, for example. And they want it to be absolutely clear that their names are not to be mentioned by you in any context in relation to this offer. They are, after all, officially dead.”

Mungo nodded. “What conditions exactly?”

“The Flamels are keen to eradicate as many wizarding diseases as possible. They also wish to help stop the cross-contamination of wizarding maladies into the Muggle world. They are in favour of the controversial attempt to segregate wizards and Muggles as much as possible.” He looked around the room. “After all, Mr Bonham, how many of these people would be here if Muggles didn’t know about your healing powers?”

Taken aback, Mungo thought about this. It was certainly true that if he only had to treat wizards and other magical beings, then his work would be cut in half or more. “I might be able to skew my research in that direction,” he said slowly. “But before I commit to anything, how much exactly are we talking about?”

“Five thousand Galleons."

Mungo’s eyes widened. He’d never even thought such a sum might possibly exist in one place, under the control of one person. “But I’d be able to establish a Healing facility for all of London!” he breathed, astonished at the breadth of the offer. 

“In time, yes,” the man said. “The funding would be made available in stages though. If your research is deemed adequate and of the correct nature, further funds would be made available.” He paused, his eyes bright in the dim room. “In other words, should you wish to establish such a facility, it might take some years.”

The man stood up abruptly, dusting off his sleeves as he did so. “The offer has been made,” he said. “We will send you an owl this week for your decision. And again, should you choose to accept, please remember that your benefactors’ names must NEVER be mentioned. To anyone.”

Mungo nodded dumbly. “Thank you,” he eventually managed to get out. “Thank you.”

The man nodded curtly at him and made his way out the door, leaving Mungo to stand there, surrounded by sleeping bodies, trying to take it all in. Five thousand Galleons was more money than he had seen in his life, more than he even thought Gringott’s held. It would solve every problem he had. And as for segregation of Muggles and wizards, well he could deal with that. He still wanted to treat Muggles – he was a Healer, after all, and his priority was healing people – but if that meant separate rooms, he could deal with that. In short, he could see little reason not to accept the offer.

Taking a deep breath, he went back into the tiny room Gunhilda still occupied. She had her back to him and was scribbling notes down on parchment like her life depended on it.

“You will never believe what I have to tell you,” Mungo said into the silence. “You will never believe it.”

Gunhilda turned to look at him, her one eye shining. “And you won’t believe what I have to say either,” she said. “This pamphlet about Quong Po’s research into Liondragons? It’s amazing. Apparently the powdered eggs of the Liondragon nullify the combative properties of aconite, which means that it should meld with the Doxy eggs! If that works, I’ve got it! The cure to Dragon Pox!” She stood up and enveloped him in an enormous bear hug.

“That’s incredible,” he said, returning the hug. Dragon Pox was a huge scourge on the wizarding population and if this worked – if they could get their hands on some powdered Liondragon eggs to make sure the mixture coagulated properly, and the ensuing potion could be brewed – then they had come a huge way in treating the worst of the magical maladies. It could cut his work in half. “How long do you think it would take to get the powder?”

She shrugged. “Couple of months, maybe. But think of it! No more Dragon Pox! It would be a miracle.” She let go of him and hurried to the cupboard to find some bottles of butterbeer, handing him one and opening the other herself. “This calls for a celebration.”

He was caught up in her infectious happiness. “It certainly does.”

She beamed across the table at him. “I’m so excited. But you said you had something to say too?”

Mungo hesitated. This was her night, her celebration, and he didn’t want to crash her party. “It’s okay,” he said. “Nothing major.” He raised his butterbeer to his mouth and took a long drink. “We’ll celebrate your news today. I can wait.”


End file.
